


vegvísir

by the_void_fox



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Backstory, Demigods, Gen, Loss of Parent(s), Magic, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Old Norse, Parent Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Runes, Self-Discovery, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_void_fox/pseuds/the_void_fox
Summary: At thirteen, Aisling Doran loses everything they have in a single day.What follows is how they gain everything else.





	1. hagall = ᚺ = merkstave

**Author's Note:**

> A note: I haven't read any of Rick Riordan's works beyond the original PJO series yet, and the RP I created this character for allows us to use as much ancient mythology as we want, so if there is a Loki in the later series, that is not the Loki in this story. My Loki is based off my own archive of knowledge and research into Norse mythology, so please keep that in mind.
> 
> Also, even though Aisling was created for an RP with some friends, I'm very invested in their character, so do let me know if you want to see more of them!
> 
> moodboard: https://pin.it/v36ylbqtwty2ky
> 
> playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/9vopwg7s4mbseqvetmdtlew8q/playlist/2Bggkx61PsrjcIZYVxKBcD?si=snnNCNzoToW7F46E-X9MXg
> 
> EDIT 6/3/19: I COMMISSIONED ART OF AISLING AND IT'S PERFECT https://these-wayward-stars.tumblr.com/post/183259658143/i-recently-commissioned-the-wonderful-and-talented

The pounding was what woke the thirteen-year-old from their sleep, frowning at the odd sound as it steadily grew louder, the night birds outside the house growing quiet.

Their father, a soft-spoken Irishman who had grown up on a farm with foxes and feral cats about, had told them once that when birds were silent, something dangerous was nearby. A knot of fear now twisting in their chest, the child crept out of bed and down the hall to their father's bedroom, reaching out to tap him on the shoulder. A loud _thump_ startled them, and they turned towards the open door, backing up against the bed. When a hand landed on their arm, they drew breath to shriek - but another hand clapped over their mouth, their father's face coming into view with one finger placed over his lips. _Quiet_.

The hand was removed, and they clutched at their father's sleeve, trying to calm the pounding of their heart. The pounding was now accompanied by a harsh scratch, somewhere against the walls of their house, and there was another sound, more human but also... not. Harsh, rattling breaths, like a half-drowned person still with water flooding their lungs.

There was an almighty crunch - a board in the front door splintering, and the man's head whipped towards the sound, his eyes afraid but determined. Turning to the child, he took them by the shoulders, looking down into the terrified face, the hazel eyes so much like the not-man he had loved once, who had left him a most precious thing in memory. 'Aisling, when I tell you to run, you head out your window and run for the stone circle in the woods. No matter what you hear, you don't look back, you do not stop until you get there - and you stay in that circle until someone you know comes to fetch you or until morning, alright?'

Aisling nodded, hearing the importance of the words. Mentally, they reviewed the location of the small bag their father had packed for such a night, and the steps to take for their impending dash to safety. They'd never needed to use it before now, but Aisling was sure that their father could take care of whatever was trying to enter the house. In all likelihood, it was simply a drunk person, or a burglar. They'd be back home in no more than two hours.

Another sound of splintering boards, and a whispered 'Run.' Aisling ran, trying to keep their steps light, and clambered out the window of their bedroom, one hand shooting out to grab the bag. They had just passed the corner of the house when there was an unholy screech that sent chills down their spine, and they made the mistake of turning around to look through the nearest window.

The _thing_ inside the house was not human, not by any definition.

At first they thought it might have been a horse, but it had no skin or eyes to speak of. Then they saw the human torso protruding from the middle of the horse's spine, inextricably linked into a single red-raw creature, and a loud, horrified scream escaped them. The _thing's_ two heads pricked, before swinging toward the window, and the father -crouching silently in the corner of the room with a poker, unseen by creature or child - leapt forward. 'Aisling, _run_!'

The words jolted them out of their fear-induced stupor, and they ran, trying to ignore the sounds from the house as their feet pounded over grass and leaf litter, carrying them towards the forest, the Rules they'd sworn to years ago flashing in their mind.

_Run for the circle._

_Do not stop._

_Do not look back no matter what you hear._

They'd broken the Rules.

Now their father was in danger, and the _thing_ knew where Aisling was headed, because there was no way it hadn't heard them crashing through the woods. Even without eyes, it still had ways to hunt them down. The stone circle couldn't protect them from _that_ , surely? It wasn't a wall or a shield, just a ring of standing stones in a clearing.

There was a distant screech, and they sped up, not caring anymore if it was a wall or a shield or just a bunch of rocks with scratches on them, they wanted to be at the safe place sooner rather than later, and at least put some distance between them and the monster. The bag seemed to be dragging them further down the further they ran, though, and the beast had twice the amount of legs, so there was no doubt it was a lot faster than them.

Moonlight struck Aisling's face, and they tripped over their own feet, stumbling to get up. _The clearing. The stones._ Clambering up the incline, they tumbled through the ring of pillars, rolling to a stop just inside. Lying there in the grass, they tried to catch their breath - and a third terrifying shriek sounded from beneath the trees. Pressing against the nearest stone, they peered around the corner, staring at the treeline. Where was the _thing_? What even _was_ the _thing_?

Where was Father? Was he alright?

A hush fell over the clearing, the wind drifting past the stones and ruffling Aisling's bright hair. It whistled through the trees in a way that should have been comforting, but to the trembling thirteen-year-old hiding behind the _Ós_ stone, just felt ominous, like the soundtrack leading up to a jumpscare. There was a flicker of blood-red at the edge of the trees, and they shrank back, holding the bag to their chest.

But, after several heart-pounding minutes, it became clear that the monster was unwilling - or perhaps unable - to enter the clearing, and simply shrieked and growled and wheezed from beneath the branches, pacing around the edge of the grass. They were safe, for now at least. Exhausted, they slumped against the rock, and stared up at the sky. The Dogstar was shining particularly bright that night, twinkling as the clouds moved past.

* * *

 Drifting into thought, Aisling didn't notice they had also drifted into sleep until they were suddenly woken by someone patting their shoulder. 'Aisling? What happened, why are you hiding in the stones? Where is your father?'

Opening their eyes, Aisling was frozen as they looked into an older, wiser, but identical pair. Hazel green and brown, with a golden tinge in the centre and a spark deep inside them that shone almost as brightly as the fiery red-gold hair that spilled over the speaker's shoulders, the same shade as Aisling's own. And the look of concern was one that they had only seen on one other person before - but that person could only be gone, as the sun was bright in the sky and he was nowhere to be seen.

The realisation crossed the stranger's face at the same time, and he bowed his head, pulling Aisling closer as they started to weep. Though traumatised and wary, the man felt so familiar that they couldn't help but let themselves be held, clinging on to the odd, old-fashioned clothes. They smelt vaguely of woodsmoke and something that zinged, something not quite normal but still natural. It smelt like, they thought with a jolt, the collection of objects in the box beneath their bed at home, where they kept the oddments that had shown up on their windowsill every so often when they were younger.

Another voice spoke, somewhere close, its tone deep but insistent. 'Loki, we cannot tarry too long. There are mortals searching the woods. Either leave them to be found or disguise us.'  
'No, Heimdall. I cannot leave Aisling here alone, and I will not be separated from them now.'  
'You claim the child as yours, then?'  
'Yes.'

A prickling feeling made itself known on the skin at Aisling's left wrist, and they pulled away to look down at it. A shape flared bright gold, before settling into a pale mark on their skin; it looked like the carvings on the stones around them, some kind of letter. The man smiled a little shakily at it. ' _Aesk_. The Ash Tree. Rather fitting, considering your name, little one. I imagine you have a lot of questions, but we should get you to safety first.'

'Who... who are you? Why do I know you, but I don't recognise you?'

He stood, and pulled them to their feet, his eyes still damp and sad, but with the spark returning at the question. 'You know me because I was there when you were born, Aisling. Because the blood that runs in my veins runs in yours, as it does in my other children. You know me because I gave you those gifts on your windowsill, and carved the runes in these stones to give you a place of safety in case something like this ever occurred. You know me,' he continued, quieter now, 'because the magic sings to you as it does to all children of Asgard, and tells you what you already know deep within your soul.'

Aisling stared at him, tears still drying on their face, but a well of hope had sprung up inside their chest. It couldn't be. But... it had to be. ' _Pabbi_?'

The red-haired man smiled again - a little brokenly, but it was a real smile, that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. 'Yes, little ash. My name is Loki, and as you may be starting to realise, I am not mortal. I am of the _Aesir_ , the gods of the Norsemen, and I am here to take you home.'


	2. interlude: flameweaver

_Magic had feelings all its own. That was the first thing you always learned._

_Not the instinctive, subconscious kind. That was just part of having the bright god-blood in your veins, no matter where they began - Greece or Egypt or Iceland. But having magic,_ real _magic, the kind that you could twist into shape and spill out into the world, the one that sat at the base of your sternum like a miniature star until you learned enough to unlock its box and send it shivering through all your cells until it filled you up with light..._

_That was something insane. Something wild. And emotion was as much a part of it as knowledge. There were whole books written, scrolls and tablets and old dusty tomes, that spoke of intent and the way a caster's heart influenced their hands, making every single magical core individual._

_There was something else you quickly learned after you unlocked that special place beneath your ribs, that existed and yet didn't at the same time. Magic wasn't just emotionally connected._

_Magic was bloody_ euphoric _._

_A good spell, a powerful one, would sizzle and spark in your very nerve endings, all the way through your body, setting off every endorphin and serotonin stash it found. A successful casting - sigil, potion, or incantation alike - was always suffused with a bright joy, bubbling happily within the magical core. The opposite could, of course, always be said for failures, but that was why casters studied. They practiced. They learned to trust in their magic and its odd semi-sentience._

_And most importantly, they learned to trust in themselves._

* * *

_The rain was beating down outside the abandoned convenience store, somewhere not too far off the highway. Inside, sitting on the countertop, the young caster bent over an old notebook, its pages well-used and occasionally bound with colourful tape. Mumbling quietly to themselves, they twiddled a finger through the air, a sure sign they were thinking of a new spell._

_This piece of_ seiðr _was more complicated than what they'd attempted before, but if it worked, then they would have a clever little light to help guide them along the dark road. Drawing out their notebook, they set it on the ground in front of their crossed legs and flipped through the paper._

 _Runes first - what would they need?_ ᚲ kaen _, obviously, for light, and perhaps_ ᛋ sol _as well, to add energy._ ᚷ gé _and_ ᛇ eiwaz _would follow after, for balance and dependability, and finally_ ᚱ rædo _, so the light could travel._

 _After some thought, they disregarded_ ᛋ sol, _as_ ᚲ kaen _was powerful enough in the hands of a child of Loki to stay under its own power. Revising ᚲ_ kaen _in their mind to speak for fire rather than just light, they pulled all the runes together into a sigil, carefully inscribing it onto a new page and scribbling the description and intent of the spell in the margins._

 _Tugging a golden, twisting thread of_ seiðr _from the air - the one they had pulled from their core earlier - they began to chant, weaving the thread into the sigil, hovering in midair. The ends of their red hair frizzed at the expansion of energy, and a bright gold fireball flickered into life with a pop._

_Aisling grinned, and dusted their palms on their jeans. Picking up their bag, they set out into the damp night with the fireball trailing along, vanishing around the bend in the road._

 

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: these-wayward-stars
> 
> my other writing: on my AO3 profile


End file.
